Elftouched
by Liriel-eris
Summary: Everyone has to grow up sometime, and once upon a time Sarah did too.The most logical thing after that was to speak her mind and change the world, if only a little.Fairytales have a way of enspelling. Fair lady, faint heart victory and all that.Oneshot JS
1. Chapter 1

**(a/n Hey guys, this is ****not**** an update! I have merely reposted this story in a three-chapter format, as it has been suggested by a reviewer, and I quite agree, that it would be easier to grasp that way. (Thanks Danika!)**

**Its still a oneshot, and the three chapters should be read as though they were part of the same oneshot, so as not to break the continuation of the piece. For that reason I haven't added chapter numbers or names at the top of the following two parts- because there are no chapters in this story.)**

**Also thanks to everyone who's reviewed thus far! Your kind words have inspired and your advice has been noted! ******

**A/N:** Well, it all started as a ficlet on of my theories of what Sarah really meant when she spoke her bit to Hoggle by the mirror about needing all of them, and how much she'd really changed. But with me a tiny ficlet never stays as such. So this has sort of been an off-to-the-side piece I've been working on for a while. It took ages for me to be happy with it, especially since just when I thought I was, something else would occur to me. But, finally, I am happy with it. I can honestly say it is what it's meant to be.

I hope you guys enjoy it.

Please, tell me your thoughts on my little yarn. Suggestions, etc are welcome. It's always good to hear other people's perspective! And every bit of perspective both helps and encourages one to write more.

Liriel

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Labyrinth or anything connected to it. I do not own _ The Philadelphia story, As you like it_, or the Crofton Croker poem, which can be found at the bottom of the page, in its entirety, for those who are interested.

Elf-touched

By Liriel-Eris

The thirteenth hour rang on, and Sarah found her victory to be nowhere near as sweet as she thought it would have been. The thirteenth hour rang on and she still saw the look on his face as she denounced his power over her. The thirteenth hour rang on and on and she knew, without really knowing, that it would ring on forever in the depths of heart and mind.

OOOOOOOOOOO

Sarah couldn't sleep. She turned over yet again. Her blankets and sheets were tangled around her legs and she felt that her thoughts and feelings were not much different. Giving up after an hour of turning every which way, Sarah clambered out of bed. It was hours after her victory party came to an end, and her room was a right mess. Knowing that sleep was not forthcoming, she clambered out of bed. She put an old woolen coat over her pajamas to ward off the cool wind and ran her fingers through her hair, before softly opening her bedroom door. With practiced ease born of years of midnight 'rehearsals' she snuck carefully down the stairs, avoiding the third step from the bottom, which released a screech-like sound capable of putting a banshee to shame, when stood upon. Opening the back door, Sarah inhaled the sharp, cool air with some gusto. She looked around the garden Karen had put so much work into laying out. It was all shadow upon shadow, with leaves rustling faintly and a small fountain trickling water, surrounded by a bed of blood-red roses. A faint movement some way in front caught her eye, and with her usual brashness, she hurried to see what it was, her fluffy blue slippers getting wet from the dew coating the lawn. Rounding the corner and passing through a little picket gate, she drew to a halt in the front yard. The white shadow settled in the tree right outside her window, and with a plummeting feeling in her stomach Sarah recognized it as a barn owl. For a moment, she stood unmoving, contemplating running home in a panic. Then she admonished herself for being childish and walked towards the old tree instead.

Without much thought she hoisted herself up, this, too, done with practiced ease. A gust of wind ruffled the leaves, and her hair with them. It occurred to Sarah how ridiculous she must have looked, in her fluffy bedroom slippers, sheep-patterned pajama pants and a long grey jersey. But she pressed on up the tree.

Were there any passers-by that night, they would have been astounded, because as the strangely dressed girl neared the bird, it made no move to fly away in fright. Instead the owl fixed her with yellow, unblinking eyes, staring her down. Sarah came to rest on a branch level with her bedroom window, next to the immobile owl. Ignoring the bird, she took in the view of the silent street, and swung her legs unconsciously.

At length she spoke, sure of the identity of the creature next to her.

"You weren't there." She didn't specify. Somehow, Sarah felt she didn't need to.

A shift out of the corner of her eye. A dark blur, but she forced herself to keep looking out over the dark road.

"Was I wanted?" A deep, rich voice, ringing with mockery, hidden meanings and not-so-hidden innuendoes.

Sarah was silent again for a while. He sighed.

"Yes." So silent, she wasn't sure she'd said it out loud.

He laughed then. Threw back his head, and laughed. The chilling sound almost overrode the thirteenth clock toll, still engraved in her heart and mind. She looked over at his pale throat, and wild hair, and cursed herself for expecting his reaction to have been…different. Though, she didn't know herself what 'different' entailed.

She was about to take offence, when something in the humorless expression on his face stopped her. Instead she looked away, back out over the silent street, just in time to see a few shadows slink across the road.

When his mirth subsided, he found Sarah silent, regarding him coolly, having lost interest in the road.

"Very well," he whispered fiercely, "_little girl_, I'll be sure to remember that." his teeth flashed at her and she felt a shiver go down her spine.

OOOOOOOOO

"Sarah, dear, are you quite alright?" Karen asked her morose step-daughter. "Morose" was very unlike Sarah. There had been lots of 'livid', 'petulant', 'stubborn', 'resentful', and other signature aspects of the melodramatic since Karen had moved in with Robert and his head-strong daughter. Just as there had been 'smugness' and 'elation', and the victorious smirk Sarah wore so often. Those frightened Karen more than the darker spectrum of Sarah's moods, though she would never admit it. But 'moroseness' was not in the girl's repertoire.

Sarah felt a bit miserable as she mulled over exactly what it was that she had gotten herself into the previous night. She also felt remotely miserable about feeling miserable. It was against the code of the Great Woman. Her beloved mother had always told her that Great Women (especially ones whose future lay on Broadway) had no time to be miserable, because they were too busy fighting for the right to be Great. Linda was one such Great Lady.

The concern in Karen's voice startled her somewhat. It was almost…maternal.

"Yes. Just a bit under the weather." She replied with calculated absentness, turning around slowly. She watched her stepmother carefully, as something occurred to her. Karen's immaculate brow creased in a frown. Sarah had always wondered how Karen had managed to win the fight against ageing skin when so many other women fell in that battle.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. It's just the rain."

"But you like rain, dear." Again, surprise. How did Karen know that? Even Linda still thought her daughter was afraid of thunderstorms. Or perhaps it was just more convenient for her to think that. Sarah often wondered about her mother.

She gave a startled chuckle. "Yes. Yes I do." And the older woman had a feeling that Sarah was not discussing the weather. The girl was so full of unspoken secrets. Some of which, Karen wasn't sure Sarah was even aware of. Karen often wondered about her stepdaughter.

OOOOOOO

He kept his threat of a promise. Sarah did see him after that night, often without actually seeing him. He was there behind her reflection in the water, or she heard the sound of his laughter overriding the general mirth of the crowd surrounding her. Blending and standing out. He was there as the words of a song hit home to hidden meanings within her. Then one day he was just _there_. No longer a mist and a whisper.

It wasn't her birthday, or the anniversary of her wish. It was just a Monday. Not a good Monday perhaps, but not a particularly bad one either. She was in bed, nose in a book on the _Comedie Française_ her mother had lent her. Her hair was still damp from her shower. It was a terrible habit- going to bed with wet hair, Karen always told her. But Sarah was perfectly content.

She turned a page and just as her eyes found the top of the next page, she felt the air around her shift. A faint scent of spices tickled her nose. She looked up to find him standing at the foot of her bed and raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to pull her blankets up to her chin.

He didn't speak, and she smiled. Inclining his head he extended a hand to her. There was an order in his eyes, but she didn't care, rising at her leisure, because she wanted to, not because he did.

They danced in her room, before their bodies had even begun to move. Predator and prey, only there was no clear distinction between either. They danced, and the furniture seemed to leap out of their way, or perhaps it was just less real then they, at that moment in time, and they spun through it without a shred of impact. Sarah closed her eyes, hearing the strains of melody from so long ago, etched in her heart forever. The moonlight spun music just for them that night.

OOOOOOOO

"Why don't you sleep, Sarah?" He asked bluntly, a year and a few months after the dance, which had shifted more than reality that night, though neither had mentioned it since.

She supposed it was for the same reason she couldn't eat. Of course eat she did, finding it a more preferable option to trying to explain to Karen why she no longer wanted so much as a spoonful of her favorite lasagna. But eat she couldn't. It was all bland suddenly. The flavor was still there, but distant. Removed. Like trying to see out into the garden through a foggy, rain-stained window.

She supposed she knew why she couldn't eat either. While Sarah didn't understand vectors or couldn't tell you what the capital of Finland was, she knew her mythology backwards and forwards. Faerie food. 'That blasted peach', as she referred to it in her mind. Or at least as she did on good days when she didn't feel like cursing. She had sat many times over stories of mortals who had tasted of faerie food, and found that from that moment on no mortal food could ever hope to compare.

She shrugged, refusing to face him, wary somehow, of his sharp scrutiny. She could see the outlines of his sharp face faintly reflected in the glass of her window. Still, like an ivory statue.

He knew she was watching him.

She closed her eyes and listened to him breathe.

OOOOOOO

The stories were ridiculous. Elf charms and elf arrows. Snorting softly, Sarah closed the book with a snap.

"_Thee, Lady, I would lead through fairyland,_

_(where cold and doubting reasoners are exiled),_

_A land of dreams with air-build castles piled_…" He appeared on the bench next to her, quoting the poem from the Croker Irish fairytales book. Seductive promise in his voice.

Breaking off the verse, he laughed at the bewilderment on her face.

"You read fairytales?" She asked, breathlessly, scolding herself for momentarily believing the words he had spoken were meant as such. Just a poem. Nothing more.

"It always stands to be great entertainment to see what drivel you mortals have made up about my kind, and how skillfully you have distorted the truth." She saw again the tinge of bitterness on his face.

Sarah laughed. "You take yourself too seriously. Stories are only that. Even I know how little truth they hold."

"More than you could ever begin to imagine." He said gravely.

"Really?" She opened the book again and ran a thin finger over the picture of a pale, blonde, startled-looking girl watching a fairy circle longingly, her hands stretched out towards them, eternally out of reach.

The king raised an eyebrow.

"Fae-touched, Sarah?"

Mockery.

"Elf-touched. Wasting away for eternity, after one dance in their midst."

"Was it worth it?"

She looked up sharply. Hidden meanings. Always. Dual conversations.

Something in his eyes. That same thing she'd seen time and time again. That same thing she could never identify.

"Maybe…"

OOOOO

Then, once upon a time, Sarah grew up. Perhaps it was that night, with those words and that look. Or perhaps it was the next. Sarah found that time was an optional thing, whenever he was around she found it hard to keep track. But all the same Sarah grew up. And Sarah didn't. She skipped in puddles and twirled around in the rain. She watched her bother and went shopping with her stepmother.

Sarah got puzzled looks from the neighbors and an amused smile from Karen as she skipped past to read poetry in the park, the girl with ebony hair and a fey glint in her eyes…her eyes…oh but her eyes could be frightening. Determined, and with the promise of cruelty if tried.

And sometimes, if you looked at the right moment, the stars sang laments in her eyes and she wore the moon for a crown.

When no-one was watching, she held conversations with shadows and near-indecipherable shapes within. And when they were, she stared back with a knowing glint, amused, as though she knew something they never would.

She didn't believe in fairytales. She knew them. Every now and then she had tea with the goblin who lived under the dresser. She exchanged greetings with the troll under the bridge in the park, to whom she tossed the ham and avo sandwiches which she never had the heart to tell Karen she hated.

All in all Sarah was a well-rounded girl. Just that her social skills were more inclined towards short and scaly. She did have friends of course. Just not close enough to understand why Sarah refused to part with her dressing room mirror when it obviously did not match the modern décor ideal, or why she had laughed so hard that day when she saw a barn owl out the window and her friend bought her a glass of peach wine from the bar. Because, to be close enough to understand, they'd have to be in her mind, or perhaps beyond even that.

As the moon rose over the small, crowded bar, with its music bordering on deafening, Sarah sat untouched it all, somewhere else. Taut as a bow string, hair practically prickling for a second, and in gales of mirth the next. There were whispers passed here and there about the strange girl. "Human" was one word no-one used to describe her.

Somehow no-one save her friends dared approach her when she was like this.

Sarah laughed a lot, a ringing, echoing sound that bounced like bells and branded like hot steel. It was nothing spectacular one moment and terrible the next. And her smiles, the subtle, cruel twist of mouth, a flash of something not-wholly-tainted in her eyes, set teeth on edge.

Her friends, bordering on eccentric themselves, missed her more outrageous quirks. Or pretended to. It was all good as far as Sarah was concerned.

OOOOOO

She was sure she was late somewhere. This had less to do with the time and more with the fact that she was _always_ late _somewhere_. But Sarah took her moments where she could get them

Sarah sat, leaning against a tree and turned the page, looking up occasionally at some kids playing "stuck-in-the-mud" and laughing loudly a ways away from her. She was reading the Croker collection of Irish fairytales again. The book with its green and gold-leaf cover depicting a grinning Irishman by a brick wall, (pipe, hat, ivy and all) made Karen chuckle indulgently that morning over breakfast as she leaned closer to see what it was Sarah was perusing.

While her stepmother still didn't quite grasp Sarah's fixation with her fantasy books, much preferring a 'good romance novel' with a title that has something to do with dark lords, big manors, some girl on the cover, dress half falling off and some young man of unrealistic proportions. Still, Karen did not protest her fetish so very much anymore.

As she began another story, which followed the familiar pattern of a human who is summoned to the fairies to do them a service, and upon leaving puts some fairy salve on their eye. When next, thanks to the salve, she sees the fairy, and greets her, the creature blinds her in the enchanted eye. This recurring pattern made Sarah wonder.

She was in the habit of having a good chuckle, when coming across distorted truths in the stories, such as the instance of Child Roland. Some nobleman goes to rescue his sister from the fairy king. Having accepted her selfishness in having wished her brother away, Sarah felt she had every right to laugh at Praised Roland's supposed honor and nobility, where she knew that if the near-catastrophic events recoded really had occurred, the man would have been responsible for them himself.

The blindness story unsettled her, though. The repetition of it in the many stories she'd read meant there had to have been some grain of truth in the words, yet she knew and greeted a good many Undergrounders, and had yet to be blinded for it.

"Not _still_ reading fairytales, Sarah." A voice chided knowingly. She looked up, unperturbed to find the Goblin king standing over her. She answered with a mocking smile.

"Some things never change."

"Very true." He extended a gloved hand to her. She closed her book, stuffed it in her bag and accepted.

As Jareth pulled her up, she wondered when it was that such a thing became normal in their strange relationship, though she wondered if 'relationship' was even the right word to use. Sarah knew that words were important.

"Shall we?" He asked, holding her hand in his a moment longer than necessary. She noticed but didn't mind. She noticed that, too, and wondered.

They walked to another bridge that spanned the little stream. Coming to a halt, Sarah leaned against the ornate railing, and Jareth did the same. Sarah glanced sideways at him. He wore mortal clothing. A black shirt and black leather coat, and in truth she had trouble imagining him in any other mortal garment. The wind ruffled his hair slightly.

She looked away as soon as he glanced at her. He noticed but didn't mind. He noticed that, too, and wondered.

"Something on your mind?" He asked when he felt the silence had wound around them long enough.

This time she glanced at him openly, ducking her head in self mockery.

"Yes." She surprised him yet again, by the lack of obstinacy. Sarah considered baiting him, by making him ask the next logical question, a game he frequently indulged in, but found that she was not in the mood for word games.

"It's a story, actually." She continued, thinking as she went, "A consistent story line, where some mortal gets blinded when discovered that she can see fairies."

Jareth raised an eyebrow.

"I know you go around calling mortal storytellers fanciful, and perhaps you're right, but it has to have a grain of truth in it!"

He chuckled. She wondered if he was about to accuse her of taking things for granted yet again.

"Well done, Sarah. Whenever did you become so very observant?"

She ignored him and went on.

"So something of the sort has happened, but then…why can I still see?"

He frowned, then, his expression darkening.

"Still you insist on taking things for granted." Mirth and irritation battled within her at his words. Irritation won.

"That's not an ans…" She broke off, realizing that it was.

The twist of his thin lips was unkind. "Did you expect that it was because you were somehow special, my dear?"

"'Special' is really a matter of perception, don't you think?" She countered.

He didn't reply. They stood in silence for a while longer.

"What was done was done for a reason. It was a safety precaution. Not all in Faerie can defend themselves against the mortals."

His voice was matter of fact. But she read beneath it.

She touched his arm and his gaze shot to her face, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed in suspicion.

"Thank you. Trust is a precious, elusive gift, and you have given me so many already…" With a soft smile, she turned and walked away, all the while congratulating herself on the winning the war of words. Talking to him was often mentally exhausting as she broke down and analyzed every word, her own and his.

Seeing as she was already late, Sarah chose to head home. He watched her walk away, face unreadable.

Sarah smiled secretly to herself as she let herself in through the front door, and Robert, catching the smile, felt worried.


	2. Chapter 2

OOOOOO

"…Is that alright with you?"

Sarah nodded profusely, not having heard a word Karen just said. This was a habit she really should have overcome, what with the amount of time she spent with Underground denizens. One must never agree to anything without having heard what it was, and possibly scrutinized every word, spoken and unspoken. But though she had improved greatly through association with Jareth and his minions, Sarah had always been lacking in the thinking-before-speaking phenomenon. She argued that if she stopped to think before every sentence, people would either assume she was slow, or if everyone did the same, the conversation would never get to the point.

"Thank you, princess." Robert grinned at his daughter, and she nodded more warily now.

"Yes, you're such a dear to give up your Friday night, and I know its short notice, but the sitter can't make it, and we've had the booking for weeks…"

Oh. Sarah had inadvertedly agreed to baby-sit. Though this wasn't the train-smash it had been about three years ago, Sarah would still have rather had her Friday night to herself.

"Er…yeah, no problem."

She didn't think it wasn't a problem for very long. The boy, four years old and painfully energetic, had instituted himself on the couch. Head on her lap, he giggled occasionally at the strange cartoon, featuring some sort of blob-like green creature and his equally strange friends. Sarah decided that for the sake of her remaining mental health she probably didn't want to know what those things were supposed to be. It was nearing half-past seven, and the giggles grew softer and further apart, as the boy drifted off to sleep. Sarah suppressed a sigh of relief, her eyes scanning the ice-cream bowls, empty milk glass and other paraphernalia testifying to Toby's late night. She expertly hefted the boy in her arms, careful not to wake him lest she had to watch any more of the disturbing cartoons, perhaps that awful one about the purple monkey and the kid it was related to. Sarah secretly felt that of she did her head would explode. As fate was in a mocking mood, he didn't wake as she made her way up the stairs, winced at the slight creak in the nursery door, and maneuvered the pale blue covers of the boy's bed, while balancing Toby with one arm. He didn't wake as she deposited the boy inside, folding the covers around him, nor as she tucked his bear, Lancelot, next to him.

Stifling a sigh of relief she'd almost cleared the door, when,

"Sarah?"

Purple monkeys swam before her eyes. She suppressed a shudder.

She escaped twenty minutes later, having put in a good half-chapter of The Once and future King. Though most of the story was lost on Toby and he demanded explanations left and right, the boy was currently going through a Knight-of-the-Round-Table phase, the blame for which Sarah fervently denied, blaming it on some other dodgy cartoon the boy watched at nursery school. Toby had a way of loudly, and persistently demanding to hear knight stories that made one indulge him for the sake of silence. After hearing yet another adventure, he would grin wildly and run around with a toy sword, leaping off the couch and spinning around doorways by leaping off the back of Robert's recliner, little hands gripping the doorframe. He had also taken to wearing a maroon table cloth as a cape. Sarah had graciously agreed to read to him from her 'grown-up' book, laughing at the irony.

When she came back down stairs, removed some of the plates that littered the coffee table back into the kitchen and curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea, she was delighted to find one of her all-time favorite movies showing. She could recall the first time she'd watched it as a child of about nine. It was one of the first snowy days that year, when the snow mixed with the mud and turned to sludge, and too miserable to go out. Her father had been out with a few friends from work, and Linda had just finished revising one of her numerous scripts. Setting aside the bound pages of _As You Like It_, she called to Sarah, who had been staring mournfully out the window, eager to go play outside. Curled up against her mother, the girl watched the romantic story play out before her. As the sepia faded into color, she admired Katherine Hepburn's acting, mentally comparing the famous actress with her mother's many performances. With the loyalties of every daughter, Linda came first. And while some nuances of the film were lost on her as much perhaps as the T.H. White book was lost on Toby, she felt perfectly happy, curled up next to her mother, munching on a brownie and watching Tracy Lord stubbornly defy her father, banter with her former husband and call-off the wedding to someone who was obviously not her One True Love. Smugly, Sarah knew she'd never make the mistake of nearly losing her love.

But Linda was not there, she was probably at some fancy New York shindig, smiling graciously as people admired her latest designer hat or gown, drinking champagne and sharing secret smiles with Jeremy, whom Sarah still liked a great deal, though her childish crush on him was long gone.

Now the girl felt a bit alone, as she sat it the dark room, watching Katherine Hepburn sweep across the screen in a trouser suit, chin up proudly. An expression she herself favored. As she thought of that, an idea came to her. Sarah closed her eyes and wished, murmuring her wish out loud.

"You called?" The sour tones greeted her. He was still irritated about her abrupt departure by the bridge, and had been looking forward to a quiet night's sleep after a day that refused to end, frustrating even the creature who held the ability to re-order time.

"Yes."

"May I enquire as to the occasion?"

"I was watching a movie. I didn't want to watch it alone."

"And those friends of yours would not suffice?" He asked snippily. There was still a slight tension in him where her friends were concerned. She never informed him that her friends felt the same way about him.

"No." Strange, she thought, they always had before.

He was caught off-guard yet again.

"Will you sit with me?" She asked then, as he continued watching her in silence, making her feel somewhat edgy.

She reminded herself that in spite of his displeased expression, he would not have come if he hadn't wanted to.

He did, frowning and considering if perhaps he should leave before she pushed him completely off balance. She had a way of doing that. Disconcerting him.

"It's _The Philadelphia story_." She informed, knowing all the while that the title meant nothing to him. Huffily, the King settled on the couch next to a girl in baggy pale blue pajamas featuring penguins, his exquisite dark red velvet dressing gown an almost comical contrast.

Sarah noticed what he was wearing and felt her cheeks heat up. There was something entirely intimate in seeing him like this. Dressed down, preparing for bed. At the idea of bed she had to drag her mind out of the gutter, blushing further.

Jareth, noticing the change of hue to her cheeks, his vision superior to hers, hid a self-satisfied smile, guessing at the paths her mind was taking.

Sarah tried to focus on the movie. Jareth focused on her intent form, all the while fervently denying the feelings of closeness assailing him.

They sat in silence for a heartbeat or two, when he decided to bait her (or so he told himself) by putting his arms around her. His own heartbeat nearly stopped from shock, when a heartbeat later she easily leaned back against him, a small smile he couldn't see but felt, all the same, curling the very corners of her lips.

Suddenly all felt right. Naturally, they would drink Bog water sooner than admit it.

They sat in companionable silence and watched _the Philadelphia story_.

OOOOOOOOOO

One despairingly sunny day (Robert told her that there was no pleasing her where the weather was concerned), Sarah was walking carelessly down the street on her way to Sunday Lunch with the family. Karen had instructed her to pick up some potato salad on her way, and the bag which held the plastic container swung slightly on her wrist. A sign across the street caught her eye. An antique shop. "Smiths' antiques", the plaque read simply, fashioned to look as if it were made of weathered oak.

A feeling came over her. A strange possessed feeling. Like she just _had_ to go in. Like it was already written in the stars that she would. Sarah, uncharacteristically enough, held little stock in the stars. They were too distant, far too distant to matter. All the same, the nagging feeling persisted.

Without heed, she dashed across the road and through the door setting the bell ringing.

Sarah bought the clock. It was insanely overpriced, but Sarah paid without blinking an eye.

When she got home and showed her family the prize, Karen raised a bemused eyebrow at the fanciful girl, and her father chuckled.

"Really, honey, I won't even ask how much you paid for it. Overmuch I'm sure. What good could it possibly do you? Thirteen hours!"

"Who would ever think to make such a strange thing, I wonder." Her stepmother commented thoughtfully, leaning closer to inspect the article with a critical eye.

Toby said nothing. The boy stared at the clock with large, far-away eyes, which seemed out of place on his chubby, baby face. His older sister grinned with pride she could not explain at her strange find.

Sarah was asleep when the clock struck midnight. She turned over in her sleep when the little, sword shaped arrow slid straight to one o'clock.

OOOOO

Sarah was on a date. Little black dress, red wine, young man…the whole nine yards. Sarah longed to be at least nine yards away and counting. He was a find of her friend, Claire's, who took great pleasure in trying to convince Sarah to at least try and act normal. Normal, in the sense of having a significant other. It wasn't that Sarah liked being by herself, although she certainly didn't mind. But somehow every boy she met was…_wrong_. And they didn't pay her much attention either. Maybe it was her raised chin, or the inhuman glow that sometimes entered her eyes, but she had always come short of the "pick-up" radar. Sometimes she wondered if they saw her at all. Once this used to upset her, if a little, now though, it did not bother her.

Claire had, in her exasperation, blurted out to Sarah that she was unapproachable. Distant. Hard to read. That young men often asked about the unspoken distance she always kept. Then she looked distinctly uncomfortable, waiting for Sarah to take offence. Sarah watched her with a touch of cruel amusement for a few silent moments, before throwing her head back and laughing.

The strangeness really took hold when her date, nervous at the glint in her eyes, the silent mockery he could just barely perceive, knocked a glass of expensive red wine over the edge of the table. Without a thought, Sarah's hand shot out and caught the stem. The movement was a little too quick, a little too fluid, a little too elegant and startled them both.

"Er, nice catch." He said eyeing her dubiously.

"Yeah…just lucky." She laughed with fake cheer, fluidly returning the glass atop the table. A miniscule drop of crimson stained the inside of her bare, pale forearm.

After the meal, loaded with odd glances and prickly smiles they made their way back to Sarah's home. The night was warm, and the moon was out. Sarah thought it all seemed a touch contrived.

Something in her eyes as she said her polite farewells made the young man drive off as fast as he could. He did not so much as glance back, and she moved to open the door only to be yanked by her arm past the door and potted plant Karen had placed there, and behind the corner. She stared down at Hoggle in mute shock.

"Sarah! Who was that? His Majesty saw 'im and was none too pleased." His voice was hushed and urgent. She saw no need for the melodramatics. Then the implication of his words really registered.

Sarah felt a momentary spark of annoyance, but fought it down.

"No-one. Why would it matter to the king?"

They both knew the redundancy of _that_ question.

Hoggle huffed in irritation. "You know why! If you gonna ask stupid questions…"

"I'm sorry."

"'ts alight." The dwarf sighed again, watching her with obvious pity. "I must be on me way now. Just came to warn ya. An remember, cards, on Saturday."

She nodded and he took a step back into the Underground. Hoggle was a terrible card player. He cheated shamelessly, and accused everyone else of dishonesty at every turn. It was tons of fun, though Sarah was beginning to slowly run out of plastic trinkets she could wager.

OOOOO

He was waiting for her upstairs just like she knew he would. Seeing his expression she spoke before he could.

"You have no claim."

She didn't bother telling him that the boy was nothing to her. It didn't matter. She didn't ask him about her strange reflexes either. She was sharp enough to put them together with her heightened hearing and sense of smell, sharp enough to remember her fairytales and putt the two together. She didn't mind the change much and he didn't hold with stupid questions.

"No." Words meant to freeze blood, but they creased her brow instead.

"No." she agreed.

Silence. She took off her coat, and joined him by the window. Close but not touching, she was afraid of what would happen, were they to touch.

"Dine with me."

She didn't smile. It wasn't expected.

"When?"

"Beltane."

She frowned as she searched her mind for the approximate date.

Sarah paused for a heartbeat, watching him slyly out of the corner of her eye.

"I'd be delighted." She turned to look at him directly and lifted her hand to hover just above his cheek, still not touching.

His hand shot up and grabbed hers, his eyes aflame.

OOOOO

Her summer dress was insufficient, she felt, but she wore it anyway. It was dark red in color, cut above the knee, and blowing lightly in the breeze. He appeared before her, eyes taking in the dress, speaking volumes, and then the world blurred. Light and laughter. They danced, though she did not know the steps, and watched laughingly as some children in the distance leapt over the smaller bonfires, giggling.

They drank light fruity wine and Sarah swore she recognized some of the other revelers. She hoped for three faces in particular and dreaded them all at once. Some things were yet to be openly said, and she wasn't sure if the right words would come.

So she scanned the crowds for them. Her dearest friends. They did not appear.

The night made her feel at peace though she felt anxiety building. They listened to bards sing songs and watched a minor deity appear in the fires. Couples walked by, here and there, and danced around the obligatory maypole. Sarah didn't remember getting home and would have believed it all a dream but for the fact that under the covers she wore the dark red dress.


	3. Chapter 3

OOOOOO

"You can't live like this, missy." Hoggle said to her one day. Didymus nodded his agreement. Sarah frowned. The entire conversation seemed rehearsed. She looked to Ludo but the shaggy beast said nothing, staring happily out of the kitchen window. It was Thursday. They had tea and honey cakes.

Sarah put down her floral teacup (a sure sign that she was hovering in indecision), which she had purchased in a failed attempt at normality (much to Karen's delight) on the table, a little too hard, because some of the chamomile concoction splashed onto the wooden surface. Sarah ignored this.

"Oh? And how's that?" She asked irritably.

"Alone." Ludo's growl startled Sarah. She had thought him to be her only ally.

"I'm not alone! I have friends! Here and Underground."

Three pairs of eyes stared blankly at her. Her ire rose

"Oh, really! It's not my fault, is it? I can't possibly fit in! They're all either here or there…but _I_…_I _am forever in between! I cannot move either this way or that! What would you have me do, break the walls of limbo? They are no longer made of reflecting glass! And the chairs are all nailed to the floor.'

Her friends looked mournful now. They'd heard the story. In the Underground, gossip travels faster than light.

Rumor had it she'd told him she wanted him, and he'd claimed her as his own. It was like a brand, but Sarah knew that, as well.

She also knew the truth, and while neither of them had ever uttered anything of the sort, there were moments of understanding, of agreement.

When Sarah was perplexed she did stupid things. But buying an overpriced new handbag just wouldn't suffice. So she did something that was by far more idiotic than usual. She went camping. Karen watched in disbelief as the girl drove off down the street, and shook her head knowing she'd be back before two days passed, let alone a week.

OOOOO

Sarah danced in the moonlight, the moon catching in her hair, as she leaped and twirled.

His eyes followed the nuances and twists of her limbs, his heart beat the rhythm she seemed to be following.

She was there, just like he knew she would be, when he awoke suddenly in the middle of the night. The Dancers. Boulders tall and old, making the girl look like a marionette. They danced, too, around and around, though she did not see it. The Dancers had a notion to claim her. What a pity that shot had already been called.

If an outsider had been watching, to them the strange fact about the scene wouldn't be the girl dancing in the night without music, or the man watching from the shadows. It would be the fact that during the day she had two left feet and no balance. She twirled and the stones turned with her.

He walked closer and she did not even glace up, leaping in the air and he felt the stones wanting to catch her.

He sighed and moved to take her in his arms. Sarah struggled and protested. Her eyes were misty.

"What did you do that for?!"

"Would you have had me leave you there, to dance until you collapse in death?"

She shuddered, pressing against him. "No."

OOOOO

Later that night they sat outside her tent and the king pressed a conjured mug of hot chocolate into her hands. Sarah shivered under her blanket and accepted. If she had been herself she would have been touched by the thoughtfulness of his gesture and his unusually gentle eyes, though she would never admit it.

His eyes turned wary as she lifted the cup, and she chose that moment to glace up. Seeing the look in his eye she felt more of herself returning. The new awareness was not lost on the King.

_A direct offering._

Sarah was inexplicably reminded of their meeting in the park on that day she had thanked him. There had been something in the air. Or perhaps in the blood.

Meeting his eyes and holding, Sarah gave back the same he had gifted her with. Lifting the cup fully to her lips, Sarah drank the rich, dark liquid. Eyes locked on the king's. She felt the warmth of the drink all the way to her stomach, felt the richness of flavor long after the mouthful was gone. His nostrils flared, though it was barely perceptible. Somehow she knew he had understood.

A bird flowing out of a tree noisily broke whatever was happening between them.

Sarah glanced over into the fire he had conjured along with the drink.

"What were those things?" Her voice was still shaken.

His expression darkened and she could see he was considering evading her question.

"Please." The simple word spoken softly, her eyes declaring trust in his words.

"The Dancers." He sighed at last. "The Fiddlers, or whatever other ridiculous names your kind give them. Though the Dancers is perhaps the most accurate."

Sarah snorted disbelief. "It cant be! We're not in Ireland or Scotland or anywhere near the old Celtic sites! They were people turned to stone by dark magic. They caught new mortals by binding…"

His laugh cut short her train of thought. She opened her mouth to protest his scorn.

"It is as I have told you, nonsense!" Jareth informed, "Turned to stone nothing. The Dancers are, as you might have heard, a gateway. One of several both of this kind and of others. No more sentient than my labyrinth. Through magic they 'dance' as you put it, pulsing with power. Those of magic know better than to linger among them. But mortals have neither the knowledge nor strength of spirit to withstand their spell."

Sarah stored this bit of information for later contemplation. Her hands clutched at the edger of her tartan blanket, the mug forgotten by her feet, as she pointed out the flaw in his argument,

"We're not in the old Celtic lands!"

"No. Did you really think that the Dancers are bound to one location only? They are a gateway, moving others and themselves. They are everywhere and nowhere. Where they are needed or wanted most."

Sarah nodded then.

"Why do you call them that, 'The Dancers' ? If it's a silly mortal name."

"It is simpler that way. We do not name them among my people. Names have power, dear _Sarah_, names _are_ power."

She ignored the implied threat. It was such an old game, as far as Sarah was concerned.

Picking up the mug and blanket she moved around the fire, startling Jareth as she sat next to him, shivering still. He had expected her to at least be wary this night of wild magic.

"Then it seems that you have saved me yet again, even now that I am done playing the distressed princess."

Wild magic danced across his skin. In the dark forest under a half-shadowed moon her hand found his.

OOOOOO

They sat on the new porch swing, that her dad (who huffed and muttered under his breath, taking care that Toby wouldn't hear what was said) and Toby (who giggled and drove his toy car under parts of the frame) had spent half the previous day trying to put together. Her back snugly against his chest, his arms around her. Sarah's parents were away for their anniversary, and her brother was sleeping at a friend's. She refused to acknowledge what the new closeness between them entailed, and she wouldn't have dreamt of speaking of it aloud.

"I never thought I'd say this, my dear, but your silences are even louder than your words."

She laughed, though she wasn't sure why. She buried her face in his shirt and laughed. And she could feel him laughing too.

Jareth reached out a long leg towards the floor and pushed back. The seat swung back once, then promptly collapsed in a heap of canopy, pillows, frame, girl and goblin king.

Jareth promptly began trying to untangle himself, and opened his mouth to blame Sarah, who had sworn that the suspect thing was, in fact, safe. He heard a giggle, and irately lifted the bit of flower-patterned canopy that covered Sarah's face. He stared at her for a moment, as she turned red trying not to laugh, then lost it and burst into a manic fit of giggles. Any intention to berate her was forgotten as he joined in her mirth.

"Good evening, Sarah." Said the disapproving voice of Miss Clarence, the across-the-street neighbor, as she stopped in their driveway to look over the Williams porch.

Sarah tried to choke out a pathetic greeting, but failed miserably and collapsed into further giggles.

Jareth later remarked that spending time with her was doing nothing for his royal pride and dignity. Sarah riposted that it was doing nothing for her reputation as Miss Clarence was the biggest gossip on their street. She tried very hard to sustain an affronted expression, and fight off the silly grin at the memory. Jareth was too busy doing the same to notice, though Sarah would have argued that his grin was far from silly, classifying it instead somewhere under 'sensual'.

OOOOO

It was the little touches, and familiar glances that sealed their fate, in the end. One day she walked carelessly into her bedroom, only to find herself in his.

Sarah frowned as she glanced around the elegant chamber to find him seated tensely at a large, rosewood desk in the corner, his unwavering focus over an official-looking piece of parchment. With a sigh Sarah moved closer, still he did not speak and her hands found his tense shoulders. In silence she began to knead the muscles, at length her hands strayed into his hair and across his sharp cheekbones.

They did not speak that night, for words did not seem enough. Their union was of darkness and light, though none could ever hope to be able to tell which was which.

OOOOOO

"I would give up forever…" he began, but Sarah knew better. The Goblin King was generous and terrible in his generosity, though personally she was of the opinion that he had an unhealthy affliction for the literal. They had been friends and lovers long enough for Sarah to know the ins and outs of their strange relationship. To know him. And maybe even to know a little of herself.

"Keep it." She snapped, angry in turn at being put in this position "I…I could not bear to take more from you than I have taken already." She spoke, a cruel twist to her lips , not looking at him, choosing instead to let her gaze travel over the expanse of his kingdom. Though if she closed her eyes and opened them really quickly, Sarah could see the view from her own window.

Mistaking her expression, he continued, "Ah, yes. I have forgotten how you love to play the selfless heroine."

Sarah notched a smile his way, over her shoulder, this one edged with steel every bit as much as the last. Cruelty shone in her eyes. Her hair and teeth glinted at him ferociously.

"Have you?"

OOOOOO

He put an offer before her, one he was hard-pressed to ask and she to accept. In his usual manner he made it sound more like an order. Sarah was in the mood to take it with a pinch of salt. Rumors travel and her parents were pressing her about her 'young man', which was a term she found almost as ridiculous as 'boyfriend'. She knew that what he was aiming at was her eternity.

They both knew that their idyllic existence could not continue forever. One way or the other the world was due for another tilt. They separated, edgy and grave. No argument could hope to cheer them up. Sarah's friends were perplexed in the mirror that night. Hoggle still had trouble accepting Sarah's relationship with the capricious king.

The following day, Robert could be heard puffing furiously around in the garden. Sarah went to investigate, only to find Karen giving him commands as to where he was to dig a hole for her to plant her need peach tree. When she brightly read the label to Sarah, informing her that they were said to have a hypnotically sweet taste, the girl felt her lips thin.

"Now, now Sarah, no need to be such a skeptic, I know they always exaggerate but I'm sure they will be sweet enough. And even if they're not, the peaches will fit most delightfully in to the garden! Right, Robert?" 

Sarah watched her father mutter his half-hearted agreement before fleeing into the house, with every intention to go out for a walk. A fast one. Accidentally dropping her lip-gloss behind the vanity, she bent to look for it only to discover her peach-flavored one.

Defiantly, Sarah put it on.

OOOOO

She would not call on him. It was a matter of pride. Then suddenly she didn't care anymore.

Then there was silence. And music in her head. Light, airy music as Sarah walked down the street ignoring the mortals rushing this way and that. She nodded a greeting to an old goblin through a shop window, who was busy moving the welcome rug to where it would do the most damage.

The creature nodded too and watched her go with pity. Word gets around.

Determination glinting in her eyes, Sarah came to a halt by the stream that started in the park and proceeded into the intricate rose garden Karen had always preferred to the wild untamed of the park. The paths were neat and the flower beds tended. Colorful rose bushes swayed in the light breeze. She considered the Dancers and wished. When she opened her eyes Sarah was still in the garden, but if she squinted she could see faint traces of a courtyard instead.

The stream was louder somehow. The wind warmer. The music, relentless. It was a whisper and a scream in her mind.

She wondered why she was there, and why he wasn't. Why she hadn't seen him in a week. Something inside urged her to choose. She could not be in the middle. Only she stream was in the middle, joining this world and that. And she could not be part of the stream.

It wasn't a matter of where you lived, she decided, it was a matter of where you belonged. What world was in your heart. And in what was an outrageous _coup d'etat_, her heart had been stolen from under her very nose.

So Sarah chose without a second thought because in reality she had chosen along time ago. A though crossed her mind. She was late somewhere. Again. She looked down and remembered. A formal party at the local theatre. Her narrow off-white silk gown shimmered faintly.

She considered her position once more.

Sarah nimbly unstrapped her watch and tossed in into the rushing waters if the river, closing her eyes to savor the satisfaction the action had left her with.

Then she stepped over, but gingerly because one had to know where one stood with magic and she didn't look back because she didn't need to. She would be back soon enough.

There were people. Masked, elaborate and wild, spider-webs in their hair, and gorgeous silks and lace. They stood here and there, flutes of drink clutched in gloved hands, wrists and fingers delicate. Here and there a crystal laugh would cut the night. She watched them and realized how close they all came to snapping the delicate crystal, cutting their long hands. But their hold never shifted, ever elegant.

"Not lost are you, pretty lady?" A loud voice roared at her good naturally. Sarah stopped, watching, as a man in an elegant mask covering the top half of his face and a drunken grin the lower moved towards her. He swayed unsteadily on his feet and waved his arms around in an attempt to keep his balance. It was the eyes that caught her. The intense gaze belied the effect of the drink, as they watched her steadily and knowingly.

She paused in thought for a moment. Then smiled.

"No. No, I'm not lost at all." Sharp eyes warmed a fraction, and he gave a loud, jovial laugh.

"Very Good! Very good! Here, have a drink, Lady."

At that he thrust a bejeweled goblet at her. Half full with spiced wine, it still splashed over the side and onto her hand, staining her sleeve.

Sarah accepted the cup, surprised at its weight. Suddenly she felt all eyes upon her, glittering behind the decadent, depraved masks. Uncomfortable. Wary. Not looking away from the man's flushed face and cool eyes, she lifted the cup to her lips and took a small sip.

Laughing again, hand on the small of her back, he pushed her along into the crowds. She nearly stumbled but regained her feet at the last possible second. They swirled around her, masking her dizzy. Colors and lace. Sharp teeth and sharper voices. Beautiful and jagged laughter, like broken blades gleaming in the moonlight.

Hers was the only face bare of a mask. She could still taste the sweet wine.

The though of fairy food might have been daunting, once, but she was already as caught between the two worlds as she could ever be. Perhaps that was what the strange man had been trying to show her. Or perhaps he was just a reveler, nothing more. Perhaps so was she.

The crowd swayed around her, and she with it, like a feather caught in the current of a stream. She caught sight of Hoggle for a moment, Didymus with him, chattering about something. The dwarf's eyes fixed on her, and widened, though she was too far away to determine whether the expression was one of horror or surprise. Following his friend's gaze the knight's face took on a similar expression. She fought to get closer, calling to them. Hoggle shook his head sadly once she was within hearing range.

"Why, Sarah?" She head him ask in a low voice.

"Because some things can't be helped." She whispered wistfully, and just like that her friends were gone and she was pushed along. Sarah cried their names again, but it did no more good then trying to fight her way back.

OOOOO

Somewhere the clock struck thirteen, but Sarah didn't hear it. She walked on, silk hem trailing on the dusty paths covered with fallen leaves and twigs. She felt eyes upon her, and whispers, as the masked lot turned to stare at her who should not have been there, and could be nowhere else. Closing her eyes, Sarah walked into the hedge maze, swaying slightly to music only she could hear, the cup in her hand forgotten.

The wind rustled in her hair and the tiny leaves of the hedge. Her delicate sandals clicked on the stone path.

She was alone and then she wasn't.

"Sarah."

"Jareth."

With names came both power and equality.

They eyed each other, like the adversaries they haven't been for years. Weighing measuring, tracing back.

"Its more haunting than I remember." Sarah offered, gesturing at their surroundings and the eerie strains of music reaching them even in the depths of the maze. He accepted what they both knew he would take as a compliment with a slight inclination of the head. Another thing Sarah learned, which was now as natural to her as speaking was watching him for even the slightest hint of how he felt.

A gasp, a giggle, a rustle of fabric and footsteps sounded not far away. Sarah grinned momentarily. Jareth's eyes thawed the fraction of an inch.

"It seems that once again we are where we began." He remarked conversationally with a slight gesture of the wrist.

"Yes." Sarah chuckled and turned to face him directly, automatically dropping into words and stance that she would never forget if she lived a thousand years, " Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here, to the castle beyond the Goblin city, to take back the child that you have stolen," a step towards her. He eyed her, flinty-eyed, "for my will is as strong as yours and my kingdom is as great…" the last two words were whispered, and her eyes were suddenly beseeching.

"Forgot your words again, my dear?" His voice dripped irony.

"No."

Then she stood on tiptoes and looked as far over the hedge maze as her height would allow. Here, the hedges were low, but still she could barely see over them.

"It's a nice kingdom. As far as kingdoms go." Her tone was conversational again. If she had a cup of tea she'd have offered him some.

"And how far _do_ they go, pray?" his smile was sharp. She took care not to cut herself.

She turned and put her arms around his waist, one pale hand still clutching the goblet, her face buried in the shoulder of his shirt. Hidden meanings yet again.

"I imagine I don't know what you're talking about." Sarah murmured into the king's shirt.

"Imagine all you want, but the point stands. You know very well what I am referring to."

"Forever?"

He didn't answer so she pulled back slightly to look at him, suddenly not so sure about her ability to read him.

Still eyeing him suspiciously, Sarah went on, "Maybe."

She let go and turned away.

"Maybe I don't have much of eternity to give, but, for what it's worth, I lay it on offer before you."

When she faced him again, his eyes were narrowed.

"This is not a game, nor a dream, my dear. You cannot take back your words, and I will not re-order time."

Head to the side, she countered, "This is a dream not a game. I will not go back on my word, this is one moment in time you need never re-order."

"You offer up your life?"

She laughed, her head tossed back.

"No more than you offer yours. I will not give up my family for they are not mine to give, and I don't even want to begin thinking about explaining why it is that I'm moving out somewhere without a phone line to live with a man who is king over Sidhe."

"I would imagine that such minute details will sort themselves out in time." Sarah laughed at the jest only she could have caught.

"I imagine they will."

She took a deep breath and felt ridiculous. To have come this far…

She lifted the cup dubiously, following on a strange instinct, and took a sip.

Theoretically she knew better than to play with fairies. In practice she never could resist.

"I love you."

He looked startled. She had never seen him wear that expression before. In softened the sharp edges.

"And I you, though I dare say you have known of my love for years." He edged around the words. Words were power.

She shook her head, not sure if the fairies were still playing by the rules.

His eyes flashed.

Sarah was never very good where decisive moments were concerned. But then, she didn't have anything to decide.

Sarah went for the one tactic sure to throw him- honesty.

"I didn't. Not in the way that you mean. I was a child then, and some things are just not of childhood."

"They were said directly, and your response was the attempted destruction of my world."

"That…was not my fault." Sarah declared.

"Then it was not you who spoke the words?"

She knew the rules better than she'd originally thought.

"It was. And it wasn't. I am not quite who I was then. Besides, destruction was never my intent."

"And what was it, exactly?"

"Victory." That, she knew he understood no matter the blood he attempted to draw with his mere gaze.

"At any cost. Selfish. Cruel." She laughed off the accusation.

"You forgot immoral. I dare say that's another characteristic we share."

He scoffed, "And what is it that you mean you have done, apart from the wishing away, and I would add subsequent rescue, of your brother?"

Now she was behind him before he realized she'd moved. Rising on her toes, she whispered in his ear, "It's less of what I have done and more what I plan to do."

And she stepped back with a self-satisfied grin. He laughed. Loud, rich.

Just as suddenly his laughter vanished and his lips were upon hers.

"Shall we return to the revelry?" He asked when their embrace was broken, holding out his arm.

"Not yet. The revelers make me edgy. Something in the way they look at me and their biting, knowing smiles."

They shared a knowing look of their own.

"I seem to recall you quoting something in regards to a tour of Faerieland?" Sarah murmured, eyes glinting with a teasing light. "What's said is said. I trust you intend to keep your word, dear heart?"

Jareth took her arm with a low chuckle, and began to lead her deeper into the maze.

Their silence spoke louder then their words could ever hope to.

Fin

a/n: The poem, as promised,

_To the dowager Lady Chatterton, Castle Mahon_

_Thee, lady, I would lead through fairyland, _

_(where cold and doubting reasoners are exiled),_

_A land of dreams, with air-built castles piled;_

_The moonlight shefros there, in merry and_

_With the cluricaunes, should ready stand_

_To welcome thee- Imagination's child!_

_Till on thy ear would burst so sadly wild_

_The Banshee's shriek, who points with wither'd hand._

_In the dim twilight should the phooka come,_

_Whose dusky form fades in the sunny light,_

_That opens clear, calm lakes upon _

_Thy sight, where blessed spirits dwell in endless bloom._

_I know thee, Lady- thou wilt not deride_

_Such fairy scenes- then onwards with thy guide…_

I though it was a very fitting poem, given the story, and Sarah and Jareth's characteristics. I wonder who Lady Chatterton was, to warrant such a Sarah-esque poem…


End file.
